Prisoner's Dilemma
by ramblelite
Summary: Ressler has a dilemma. As a prisoner of this new affliction, this addiction, he needs to fix the problem. But Ressler doesn't believe in problems. And he sure as hell doesn't need help fixing them, no matter how hard Lizzie tries.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Donald sat at his desk, one foot tapping, eyes narrowed as he stared at the prescription bottle he gripped in his hand. He narrowed his eyes further. Son of a bitch.

He could beat this thing. He exerted self-control in every aspect of his life, he wasn't about to let it slide, and certainly not in a situation as shameful, idiotic, and most definitely hazardous to his career as this.

He blinked furiously, rubbing at his eyes, before he heard a knock at the door and quickly dropped the bottle into his other hand, tossing them into a drawer and shutting it with his knee. He looked up, clearing his throat. "Yeah."

Liz peeked her head in. She studied him for a second, then grinned, feigning sleepiness. "Man, I don't know what /you/ got up to today, but I was held hostage in a fake hospital where they stuck needles in my arm and doped me up. What kind of nonsense did Donald Ressler partake in?"

He forced a chuckle, trying to steady his hands, which were the first indicator that his body has begun the sad process of betraying him, giving into the cruel beginnings of withdrawals. He winced. "Funny, much of the same."

She stepped all the way in and sat on his desk, swinging her legs. "You know, I could have sworn I just heard Cooper in here telling you to get home and rest. But maybe that was just me."

He forced another weak chuckle, sure that he was even less convincing this time around. "Ah... you know me..."

"Married to the job?" He looked down. Liz shut her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't think-"

He glanced up, just wanting to shut the whole conversation down. "It's fine. Really."

She sighed. "Well. I'm gonna take Cooper's advice. Try to get some rest."

He sighed, too. "You do that."

She nodded, swinging her legs again, before hopping off the desk. "Take care of yourself, Ressler." He raised a hand to indicate he understood, and she walked out. Ressler breathed a sigh of relief, before reaching into his drawer and dispensing two pills into his palm.

"Oh, forgot to ask, did you-" Liz stopped in the doorway in shock, catching him red-handed. He let his head hang, swearing under his breath. "Oh, man. Come on, Ressler, don't do this to yourself."

He lifted his head. "Just forget it, yeah?" He dropped the pills back into the bottle and ran his hands through his hair.

"You're gonna lose your job."

"Not if Cooper doesn't find out." Silence. He looked up. "Are you gonna tell him?"

She shrugged. "Not my story to tell. But it'll show itself. It'll start showing, in your work. I've seen this before. It just gets worse."

Ressler stood, pacing the length of the office. "I've got it under control. I can stop."

She smiled sadly. "Whenever you want, right?" He let his head hang, and she leaned on the doorway. "If you decide you want change, I'm here to help."

He scoffed. "You'll be the first person I call."

"I'm serious, Ressler."

He spoke through clenched teeth. "I've got it, /Keen/."

She looked as though she'd been slapped in the face, and then nodded, looking down. "You can't push me away. I'll be here, I'll always be here. When you're ready. I'll be here."

He waved a hand, and she nodded, biting a lip, then taking her leave, glancing back at him one more time before she left. Ressler pounded a fist against the desk, then swiped the papers from its surface in anger, a guttural noise of rage rising from deep in his throat. He sat back in his seat, taking a few deep breaths, before he reached into his desk, pulling out the bottle and shaking two into his palm again, tossing them into his mouth and biting down to activate them faster. He let his eyes drift shut as he waited for the relief to kick in. He let his head tilt back, and about seven minutes later, he let release a soft moan in his pleasure.

Donald remembered a time when the job, when serving his country and the agency, were the most important things in the world to him. He remembered a time when Audrey was the most important thing in the world to him. Hell, he remembered, back when he was tracking the Concierge of Crime, when /Reddington/ was the most important thing in the world to him, but these days, it's these pills. The high. Oxycontin + Federal Agent = Recipe for Disaster. He knew it was coming, he knew it. He knew he would be ruined, sooner or later, and someway, somehow, he was okay with that fact. Not okay, but indifferent. It was like, it was inevitable. It was going to happen either way, he had resigned himself to beginning the transformation into the sick and sad shell of a man he knew he was becoming. He was sliding down a hill into a pit a million feet deep and was showing no signs of stopping, but attempting to claw his way out was too much work, too much effort, and he just didn't have the fight left in him anymore. He didn't have a reason to fight.

As Liz peered in through the window 15 minutes later, and saw him reclined in the chair with his eyes shut and his jaw lulled open, she knew what he had done. She knew she had to save him, somehow. She had to give him that reason, a reason to fight. And she began to plot.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

"I don't know where to begin. I can't believe he could get himself into something like this, I thought he was smarter than that."

Red sighed as he looked across the scene: the park in front of them. He watched the children, their innocence. He longed for a day when that was all that was needed. "Lizzie, let me impart upon you some wisdom I learned very early on."

She looked over at him. "Let me guess: you can't make anyone change unless they want it."

Red chuckled. "No, no, of /course/ people can be changed." He sobered. "Anyone can be manipulated given the right ammunition. The wisdom is this: Donald is a victim, a victim of cruel circumstances handed to him by life. This is not of his own fault, and becoming angry with him will only aggravate the situation further. He needs care, concern. Not blame."

She glanced at him sideways. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you actually cared about Ressler."

He pulled on his fedora, looking out into the distance. "Donald is becoming a shell, that was once a human life. His soul is diminishing. Shoot a man, and you kill him. Put a man through the hell he is enduring, and you /end/ him long before his heart stops. How I feel about Donald is irrelevant: no one deserves that kind of pain."

Liz nodded, looking down. "So how do I help him?"

"He's alone in this. He shouldn't be."

"What does that mean?"

Red stood, taking a deep breath. "I must be going. Dembe will be pulling the car around at any moment."

Liz stood, grabbing his arm. He raised an eyebrow, looking at her pointedly. "Red. What does that mean?"

"Lizzie, I shall be seeing you soon." She let go of the arm, and he cleared his throat as the car pulled up. "Excuse me." He tipped his hat as Dembe opened the door for him. He climbed inside, and like that, he was gone.

Liz took a deep breath, before she knocked once on the open door to signal her presence. Ressler looked up, and sighed. "What can I do for you, Keen?"

"Red made contact. He says the next target on the Weaver's list can be found by tracing the money: the banker who has handled the money of the previous targets will be handling the money of the next one."

"Narrows our search, but doesn't give us a definitive answer"

She sighed, sitting on his desk. "Exactly. I'll have Aram look into it, see if there's something we can cross-reference."

Ressler nodded. "Sounds like a plan." They sat there awkwardly for a moment. Ressler rolled his eyes. "Listen, Liz, I know why you're here, and-"

She interrupted him. "I'm not here because I'm angry with you. And I don't blame you. I just want to tell you that I understand that you're living in hell right now and however I can help ease the pain, just let me know."

"I'm not telling Cooper."

"That's not what I meant. I said /however/ I can help."

He raised his eyebrows. "You're not going to willingly assist a federal agent in illegal possession of narcotics in abusing them."

"No, I'm not. I'm going to help my friend."

Ressler nodded, cleared his throat, and was silent for a time, looking down at his shaking hands. "I, uh... I need a break."

"You need to dose."

His voice cracked. "I said I needed a break."

"I'll take over for a while. If Cooper asks, you're on a call."

He mumbled his next words as he reached into his pocket. "I'll be in the bathroom. Just give me twenty minutes."

She nodded, and he walked out, stiffly as his joints ached with the tendrils of withdrawal.

Liz ran her hands through her hair. This was how to do it. Gain his trust. Small steps to start, and then she would begin the real work.

...But twenty minutes later, he didn't come out. Liz became more and more worried, and finally decided it was cause of concern enough for her to investigate. As she approached the men's restroom, glancing around to be sure no one would see her enter, her cell rang. Nick's Pizza. She groaned. "What, Reddington."

"Lizzie! Oh, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice."

"Cut the crap, what do you need."

"Oh, it wounds me to hear that you think it to be always about what /I/ need. This call is, in fact, to be of service to you."

She shrugged, glancing around again, removing her hand from the doorknob. "Is it, now?"

"An associate of mine may be able to assist with the Weaver. Lean on him, he'll give you the banker."

"The banker won't just give up the name of the target."

Red chuckled that annoying chuckle of his that Liz found both obnoxious and, to her dismay, endearing. "No, no, of course not. He can, however, provide meaningful information regarding the payments /the Weaver/ is taking."

Liz stood up a little straighter. "You think the Weaver would use the same banker for his own transactions and to re-route the money of his targets?"

"Doubtful. But bankers know other bankers. He'll help us find the one connected to the Weaver."

"So we're left with two bankers, a long list of potential next victims, and no Weaver."

"That's two more things than you had before I called. You're welcome."

She rolled her eyes at his snide remark. "I really have to go, I'm kind of caught up with something right now."

"Donald." She could almost hear him nodding over the phone. "I have another associate who may be able to be of assistance as well. He was once a licensed physician, however, the 'license' portion of that title was revoked when he disagreed with some policy on testing on cadavers. He now has his own... independent practice."

"Let me guess. He removes bullets from mobsters with a pair of pliers and a bottle of vodka."

"Typically on a pool-table, yes."

"He's a hack."

"The best of the breed. When Agent Ressler is ready for the help that we may or may not manipulate him into agreeing to receive, my associate will assist with the... physiological ailments... Agent Ressler will endure while he is detoxifying."

Liz sighed, staring at the bathroom door. "Unfortunately, it looks like that will be a long way off. I'll keep your hack in mind, though, thanks."

"Always a pleasure to be of service, Lizzie."

They hung up, Liz smiled softly to herself, then remembered her task. She glanced around again, to be sure no one was coming, then carefully opened the door. She noticed a pair of legs sticking out under a stall, and approached slowly. She swung open the door, and her heart sank.

Ressler was leaned against the side of the stall, legs splayed out and arms limp by his sides, head nodding off, eyes hovering between open and closed, hanging onto his last remaining threads of consciousness. Liz jumped into action, kneeling by him, shaking him softly, patting his cheeks. "Ressler. Ressler, wake up." He mumbled incoherently in response. "God, how much did you take?" She sat back and sighed, then reached for his hand, feeling his steady pulse. He would be fine, he just needed time to come down. Liz didn't know how much longer she could hold off Cooper, though, before he started asking questions regarding Ressler's whereabouts.

She rocked back onto her heels and stood, crossing her arms and staring down at him, then took a deep breath, exiting the stall and very nearly running into Samar. Samar looked her over.

"The men's restroom. Something you want to tell me?"

Liz waved a hand. "Pulled a revolving door, went in, saw the urinals, came right back out. Clearly something wrong with me today."

Samar scoffed. "Clearly." She walked away, and Liz went and sat at Ressler's desk. She sat, waiting. She spun around in his chair. She reached into his drawer and found three more prescription bottles, drawing in a sharp breath. She shut her eyes, and she waited. She waited for him to wake up.


End file.
